The Mad Hatter's Story

Thackery delicately fastened the buttons of his waistcoat, gently tugging the material down to smooth out the creases. His hare ears were twitching, as they often did, searching for any signs of danger. His human ears remained still as they always did unless someone tugged at them to get his attention. He exhaled deeply, staring at the letter once again. It was folded so the contents could not be seen, but he knew the contents by heart anyway. Whoever this T.D was, it unnerved Thackery slightly that they, for he was still uncertain as to anything relating to the gender of their host, had found not only himself, but also Hatter.

He felt the soft weight of his ears as they fell back against his head. The hare had obviously realised it was safe, something his human instincts had told him long ago. Regardless of whatever the letter meant, Thackery was in his home. Home had always equated to safety, no matter what state Wonderland found itself in. Not for the first time, Thackery wondered what it would have been like had Alice never saved them all from the Red Queen. Thackery and Hatter would still be hosting tea parties and unbirthday celebrations. Those days had been much easier but felt like another lifetime now, and in a sense they were. Times were different now. Yes, Thackery was still an outsider of Wonderland, no less odd than the other citizens, but as a member of the rebellion, it was in his interests to remain outside. But he was no longer trapped in himself. Thackery had achieved an autonomy of sorts and was no longer as ‘mad’ as he had once been. That had been Alice’s mark on him. The regaining of some semblance of sanity.

Thackery snapped his cufflinks into place. They were nothing particularly fancy, but they were a teacup and a teapot, so naturally his heart had been stolen by them. He pulled on the jacket of his suit, leaving the buttons open. He picked up the letter and slipped into his inside pocket. Why was a raven like a writing desk? The question sprung into his head as he had taken the letter, his friend’s voice echoing the words. It was a question Hatter had often posed to people. He would have to ask him the answer one day or go mad wondering what the answer was to the riddle. Why was a raven like a writing desk? Thackery dismissed the thought from his mind, gathering his hare ears into a tophat. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his para-human nature, it was just easier to blend in when no one could see your hare ears. All people saw was a well-dressed man among many others who dressed well. He was hiding in plain sight, and it was glorious.

The journey to the neutral ground was short enough to walk. The air was warm and a gentle breeze played through the trees. The flowers were bright, swaying gently as though they were dancing. If he listened carefully, Thackery could hear them whispering to one another, the same idle gossip they had engaged in since he had been a leveret boy. Feeling lighter than he had done in years, Thackery stepped into the gathering. It felt strange to be surrounded by so many people that, in any other context, he would be fighting, or Hatter would be annoying greatly. There was always the chance that Hatter would annoy and provoke them anyway, depending on which form his mercurial friend chose to take. Thackery nodded to himself, Hatter was the master when it came to hiding in plain sight.

Making his way to the central table, Thackery sought the teapot containing Earl Gray, and poured himself a cup. Taking a sip, Thackery decided that it was drinkable, but not quite perfect. He had had years to perfect the art of tea making, given that all he had done for those years was host tea parties. It was amazing what murdering time could do for you. The whole party was reminiscent of summer, from the way the food was laid out, the colours, down to the smells and the ambience around him. Despite the rebellion, everyone seemed to have their guard down and was talking openly, mingling with the crowds that would be enemies tomorrow. Keeping to the edge of the party, Thackery kept one eye out for Hatter and the other he kept on the people around him.

---

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He found the center of Wonderland in a myriad of colors, flora blossomed in their sweetness and extending gangly vine arms, twisting, coiling around columns of refined marble, their leaves the most vibrant greens and toxic berries redder than the life blood pushing through needle veins. Princes and Princesses in the center of it all, the beating heart of Wonderland, and his eyes flickered, scoured the crowed tessellated in lurid colors, to the soldiers of chess and hatters swilling on honeyed teas, woman of leather textile wings and rabbit ears twitching at the murmur of hollow wind chimes. How very alive were they; guests of supple skin caressed by starshine, glistened by their vigor and mirth that composed the ambiance, and thus the occasion was a jovial one of peace, their minds bleached and liberated from paranoia that plagued common-folk and highborns alike.

He'd laugh too, the threads of his vocal cords melted and initiating their own tiny spasms at jokes told, the antics of jesters and a four handed woman who juggled apples, oranges, and a porcelain doll head skewed by the craftsman's penchant against the previous Bloody (Red) Queen. Charming creatures hailing from the West to the East, those that burrowed emerging from tunnels and washing grime from hair thinner than sheer fabric as avian singers perched on crystallized wires, and his lips remained upturned, pulled into cheeks pigmented a diluted moonstone, his pale skin mimicking the living, mouth grinning, talking, eyes reflecting streams of illumination that had been filtered through ice statues and the prisms of their angles. They existed marvelously, and his pupils oscillated between those imbibing on saccharine rose wines and the wallflowers murmuring gossip disguised as poetry into the ears of anyone that would sacrifice to them time.

However, it was the dead who possessed eternity in their caskets, be them made of wood, ivory, water, the living were predestined to wither with the years and decompose once their tenuous hearts ceased beating. A celebration of ephemeral characters simply could not transcend the boundaries of clocks, and ruled were they by mechanical ticking, waiting for the bells to ring and for the flesh to rot. Hymns of everlasting bliss were plucked from harps sealed in liquid gold, lemon cakes were served with miniature cherry blossoms resting upon the sugar dusted surfaces and his fingers turned, delicate motions twirling his parasol of teardrop lace and the snowflake's fractal elegance. He strapped not a rapier to his side because he was no fool, understood the meaning of being openly armed at a place purged of violence, and yes, he was certainly not a fool, no one would see the blade concealed within the handle of his parasol.

Memories of nothing, their minds were fated to drown in silence whilst he collected photographs which would never fade. Noir cravat tight around his throat and dress shirt he chuckled at a fable told by a stilt walker, a tale of witches that cursed pretty maidens to a life as insipid as their thoughts - and that's how butterflies came to be, he explained in a voice weaved with old, false magic. The man gifted the Prince a monarch enclosed in a jar and her wings fluttered alongside glass dented and molded into pellucid roses, and the mannerisms of these people were queer but endearing. He almost regretted not visiting these lands sooner, and Prudence's eyes waned into crescents, humor discovered in the notches of the celebration, enemies parodying friendship and admirers finding themselves bold in the afternoon's zeal. The beauty sustained here was divine, but the warmth in the heart of Wonderland was an unsavory antagonist, not quite a foe because with a breeze gentle and bounteous any fear for his wellbeing disappearing in languid whispers of wind.

Underneath the shade he stayed, donning the glacier glory of The North in attire white and silver, silk gloves devoid of color sheathing his hands and therefore when holding the winged insect’s transparent prison hoarfrost did not creep along the surface and only mere condensation spread, moisture congregating across the contours traced by skeletal thumbs. “Such a curious, feeble creature - why must you endure peril? How can torment be disregarded by any ignorance, or does purity make you naïve, little one?” He questions the limited sentience in hushed words, brothers to snowfall which made no noise in the night. The syllables born from his larynx were synonymous with instruments for dainty hands, a quiet aria striving for no vengeance and his voice is as ceramic and deceptive as the cold always has been.

“Perhaps you will live longer in Evangeline’s hands.” The woman’s presence was momentarily absent, removed from his line of vision when whisked away by all that he had not seen before, never had ventured beyond the North, but as small as she was he’d find her again, preferably sooner than later, lest the butterfly freeze and die like mortals so easily do. Still, he mused the possibility all the same, shards of light swallowed by his irises blacker than licorice, thanking the stranger who so kindly recognized the Prince of Diamonds, as very few could.

His palm cradled the container against his chest, attention wandering from the departing storyteller to the procession of attendees arriving in pairs and groups, very few alone as they entered the garden and even less isolated in a space where merriment sparked a labyrinth of infectious joy throughout the air they breathed. Lightning storms in his lungs his grasp on the parasol relaxed, became tenacious again, and he had traveled from a palace of winter not for frivolous socialization but rather - and his pupils twitched, jerking to a woman with a child’s marble eyes (hair red like candied apples) to her companion in the nimious waltz, and vision shifted again to a man with dragons tied into his long locks of dusk indulging in what was presumably tea - well, the corners of his lips quirked, thoughts severed, rearranging.

Prudentius meandered, his legs taking leisurely strides, walking through the crowd in an endeavor of abandonment, wind jostling the tails of his formal uniform, raiment tailored to the traditional style of the Diamond’s Kingdom imperial era. Folded collars, cuffs, fastened buttons of gray spinel and silver thread embroidered into images of Northern stags, his white trousers were much less elaborate, leather boots hardly denting the grass, which was astonishingly resilient, nothing at all like the snow. “In this age a Jabberwock is branded a marvel, my lady.” He reflects in the same tender tone, emerging from the warren of guests and their wispy faces of diaphanous paint, offering a smile to the woman of dark hair and grim visage, then to the albino hare quietly ingesting tea, nodding to her with a sign of respect.

“Notwithstanding the balance,and incongruous to our surroundings, I did see this young Jabberwock depart from company, drawn in by the carousal's rear end.” Lips curled, benevolence masked a story of musing. An individual's network of senses was their greatest asset when conjoined to neuro-pulsations, and he spoke of the woman caught in his gem of eyes, ensnared by observance, just as presently his attention drifted from the hybrid to who so curiously sought out a creature made sparse in Wonderland, so scarce that if incorrect of theory then the reality would be paradoxical. After all, legends and stories do spread as wildfire. “Would I be mistaken to think you are Princess Clubs?” Prudence asked, suspicion strong yet spoken tentatively, head tilting but centimeters to the left and the parasol spun, the butterfly fluttered her wings, and people sang their lighthearted songs all around them, dancing without a single nightmare within their empty skulls.

=flashback=
"How cruel of you Vitriol. coming and going just as you please. Why can't you just stick to one spot? It'll make things so much easier on the rest of us." A woman with a huge sun hat on and a victorian blue dressed covered in white ribbon, had walked in placing her items onto Valentine's counter.

His serene self put her things into a nicely gifted box. Tying it with ribbon he chuckled softly at her choosing of desire of words. it flowed freely out of her mouth, you could tell she was both angered and unsatisfied.

"As I say to all of my customers, my dear lady. 'If you find this place it is meant to be.' It means that whatever it is you desire or wish to trade is true enough, you will luck out and seek what you need. But if your desires are falls and your trades are not true enough, you will fail in seeking this place." His smile was light as he handed her the box while she traded it for a silver charm made of pure silver that was in shape of a locket.

"Well, whatever. Oh and one more thing. There is a party going on. It's location is in the Center Gardens of Wonderland at 3pm." With that she left. All that was left was the sounds of her shoes walking down the graveled walkway and into her carriage.

Once she was in the clear, he let out a short huff of a sigh. Closing his eyes as he locked away the charm that he made the trade for. Out of no where the air about him started to shift, he could feel the strong powers of magic floating about the room. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked over to the side.

"You can't do it Cat, stop trying. Can't you use the door just like everyone else that comes for a visit?' He smirked turning around, leaning himself against the shelf behind the counter, to see his unwelcomed guest.

"Heh heh heh, someone as mad as myself, can not become like everyone else." Slowly the Cheshire Cat made himself known in the room. First his eyes and smile had shown, than his head and slowly his body. He chose to come in cat form today.

"Yes yes, you are mad, but use the door." Turning around he took off his gloves and switched the open sign to closed.

"Going to the party I see. This should be one night that everyone will always remember, unless they are mad, in which every night is worth remembering." The Cheshire hissed his chuckles. The pun was intended to make one laugh, but not to Vale.

"Maybe you should go, cat." Walking up to his room he got a change of clothes suited for the Party. It was a simple outfit with a few ruffles here and there.

"Don't worry, I am there even when I am not. I wont miss a thing." Vanishing he left behind the echos of his hissing chuckling.
=end flashback=

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---

There he stood near the entrance of this mysterious party. Who could have started something such as this and not explain why? But who wasn't the biggest problem that stood about, the more of the question, was why, why invite all of these people? there was bound to be no good about. He shook his head as he thought.

His thinking was cut short, a familiar smell to him came about to him, once a lady had passed by leaving the party before anything was to happen. She had probably just got there and already drunk off of tea. "Shameful thing" He chuckled to himself. "Now now, what is my precious master doing here, I wonder? Was all the royals invited? This makes things all the more interesting..."

Now having a spark of interest in his eyes he slowly made his way into the garden, enjoying each step as he got in, taking his time to look about the area. It was fairly decorated, it had teas and foods of all sorts, something for everyones liking. Many people were dressed up, but one could tell no one knew what to dress up for, they just wore their best outfits. The sounds of whispers and loud talking flooded the Center Garden of Wonderland. It was bigger than it had looked and everyone here made it seem even bigger.

As he looked around his eyes noticed a few familiar people. The royals of course, but one in particular caught his eyes. Diamond, his old master for now and ever. The one he would always be faithful to. Politely he kept his distance, he was in a conversation. "It would be rude if I shown my face now." He thought as he walked over to the shadows, keeping an eye on the party. If anything was to happen, he kept the Prince in his view.

"Vitriol, I see that you did take my invite, I am glad." The woman from before smiled walking up to him, offering her hand in his direction.

With a gentle nod to his head he bent down and kissed the knuckle of her hand. "Of course, my lady, after all you did take the time to seek me out. I should at least, pleasure you with this." His smirk like smile made her blush instantly, even her eyes seemed a little surprised.

Clearing her voice he yanked back her hand and started to fan herself with her hand fan that was designed out of peacock feathers. It matched well with her blue and green gown, but for the occasion it was a bit too much.

"my lady, do you know whom and what this party is about?" Placing his hand on his walking stick he glanced around them at the sea of people.

"Uhm, I wouldn't know, I didn't think much of it. Someone by the initials of T.D sent out the letters to everyone here." His question did not faze her time of fun. She had waved him off as she walked over to her crowd of friends, leaving him in his thoughts.

"T.D, huh...?" He question the situation even greater than before. Only this time he slowly looked over each person, not trying to miss even one of them. Maybe there was a thing or two out of place and a few people to question, but in order to know what is going on, one must stay to find out. So that is what he did.

A few moments later, Thackery noticed that Hatter had arrived. He had almost missed Hatter's entry, not accustomed to seeing Hatter dress so simply. The bowtie, a garish explosion of colour, was Hatter to a T though, he thought with a small smile. He dipped his head slightly, acknowledging his friend's arrival at the party. When Hatter joined him, Thackery was greeted by a gentle nudge on the shoulder, "Not your cup of tea?" the Hatter asked, before exploding into laughter.

Thackery gave a small chuckle, "It is and it isn't," was his answer when Hatter had calmed down. Thackery stood diligently as as Hatter scoured the tea selection for a suitable choice. Thackery watched as Hatter's face lit up when he found a tea to his liking. On Hatter's return, Thackery found himself being used as a leaning post, something he was completely thrilled about. No, really, he was. He cast a harmless glare at Hatter, who was happily drinking tea, peppermint, if Thackery's nose wasn't failing him. Hatter's attention was on the crowd, so he probably didn't even notice Thackery's look of disdain at Hatter's utilisation of his shoulder.

"How's the party, Thacky?"

Thackery did a double take at the shortening of his name. 'Thacky'? The last time he had been called that was when he was leveret and his infantile tongue couldn't manage the complete syllabic make-up of 'Thackery'. But, this was Hatter he was dealing with. His closest friend who was prone to moments of infantile behaviour, such as calling him 'Thacky'. Thackery had a feeling deep his gut that the name was going to stick as well, "Amazingly polite and well behaved. Everyone appears to be enjoying doing nothing," He sighed, "Our tea parties were much more fun than this," He said mournfully, "Perhaps we should go into the business of party planning," He mused aloud, not really taking the idea seriously himself.

Once again, Hatter was not paying attention. He was now eyeing the cakes. With all the delight of a child at Christmas, Hatter disappeared again. The relief Thackery felt in his shoulder from not having Hatter's elbow digging into it was exquisite. Thackery rolled his shoulder a few times to get some feeling back into the joint before Hatter returned. Once again, Thackery was used as a prop while Hatter indulged himself on cake and more peppermint tea. Despite his dislike at being used as a lean-to, Thackery couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him as Hatter looked at the cake and tea in utter wonder, "Thacky!" Yes, the name was sticking, "It's amazing!" Hatter exclaimed, eyes wide as if he had just discovered some kind of epiphany,"You've got to try the peppermint tea and angel food cake together! It's complexly magnificent!"

Thackery nodded as Hatter continued to stare at the cake, utterly transfixed, "Soon as I've finished this," He said as his ears began to twitch inside his hat. Thackery tensed. This shouldn't be happening. This was neutral ground. There should be no danger here, "Hatter, my ears and I believe something awful is about to happen."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the body of a young girl was swinging from a tree on the other side of the garden. From this distance, he could see her face was bloodied and she was very much not alive. Thackery looked around, slack faced and at a total loss of what to do, waiting for his instruction from Hatter, as he often did in difficult circumstances. A woman dressed in black moved towards the body, simply watching the girl swing while she drank. "Oh my," Was all Thackery could say, his voice barely audible.

---

Phaedra frowned when Cordelia moved the pawn diagonally. It was almost a reflex action to protest that pawns could only move diagonally when capturing a piece, but she refrained herself. This was not her game, if Lucien had a problem with the way Cordelia was playing, Lucien could raise it himself. That, and the fact Cordelia was one of the last people Phaedra wanted to anger. Especially when she trying her very best to maintain the neutrality of the garden that she so despised. No, Phaedra was going to be on her best behavior today.

A chorus of screams rang out, causing Phaedra to jump slightly, and a nearby waiter to drop his tray, the drink being saved by Cordelia, "De'laire has struck again," She said, looking to a tree. Phaedra followed Cordelia's gaze and saw a girl swinging gently in the breeze. Her face bore the bloody outline of a skull and her pretty white dress was stained with patches of red. This secret show of terror was De'Laire's doing. There was no one else left in Wonderland who could pull off such a stunt with such chilling effect. Cordelia stood closer to the dead girl, her delight evident int he chaos. Phaedra rolled her eyes, feeling the need to distance herself from Cordelia, who was drawing attention to herself by being so thrilled. Phaedra subtly looked around the garden, her eyes searching for De'Laire. She saw a movement on the edge of the garden. A man dressed in dark leather. De'Laire.

Phaedra looked around her fellow party guests, their attention on one another or the macabre show of a dead girl. She silently slipped away from her fellow dealers, making her way to De'Laire. In the shade, Phaedra lowered her parasol, holding it like a cane. She cast another look back at the party, glad to be away from the festivities, "That was a pretty little show you put on back there," She said to De'Laire with a smirk, "Very interesting."

---

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Nemaren didn't turn up to the party until quite late, and even then, she spent a good quarter of an hour in the gardens.

The flowers were very bright and gaudy for her taste, and she often scrunched up her nose in pure distaste as some of the brighter flowers caught the corners of her eyes. She scowled at a group of pretty yellow and pink roses before continuing on her journey. As she continued to walk, a beautiful white rose caught her attention, and Nemaren smiled. With elegant fingers she plucked the rose from it's stem, and pricked her left index finger on a thorn. A red drop of blood formed and dripped onto the hem of her own dress, at which she made a noise with her teeth in disgust. Blood dripped onto the petals of the white flower, and turned it's pure white petals into a dappled red. She dropped the flower from her fingers, and walked away, back to the party, leaving the flower to lay and rot.

As she made her way back, she realized that a lot of others were also late. More and more brightly coloured dresses and suits had appeared, including who she recognized as the Hatter, and Ruby Hearts. She made her way over to the tea table, blood still running down her fingertip, and delicately picked up a teacup and saucer. Tea made in the Kingdom of Spades was the best, and Nemaren hoped, for the Prince's sake, that the tea was to it's usual, excellent standard.

She was sipping at her tea when she saw the Prince. She was trying to stay away, to not draw attention to him. She could already see that they were admiring him, even if it was from afar. Something twisted inside her stomach, something that made her want to go over, but she stopped herself. She couldn't let herself bring more attention to him. She stood around, sipping at the tea, when everything went wrong.

Nemaren didn't notice her at first, but when the screams came, her eyes widened in fear and surprise. A young girl, with a lovely white dress, had a red skull carved into her flesh, which dripped down onto the collar of the pretty white dress. The teacup slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering into tiny fragments.

Nemaren hated red.

She retrieved the dagger from her boot and began to push her way towards the Prince, on the opposite side of the crowd, at first not so slowly, but then more hastily. The surge of women in dresses and frightened men, trying to get away, was crushing, and Nemaren struggled to fight her way through. The sight made her feel quite sick, and it upset her to see the pretty white being overtaken by the red of the girl's blood. But she forgot about that, for now. She had to get to the Prince. She pushed her way through frantically, feeling that it was imperative she got there to help before something happened to him. She had no doubt that he could look after himself, but if he got into trouble, Nemaren would blame herself.

Finally, in what seemed like centuries, Nemaren burst through the crowd and hurried over to the Prince. A fire was now burning, lit by a very handsome man with dark hair. She scowled and sniffed in distaste, before walking over to the Prince. "Are you alright, sir? You're not hurt?" She kept her voice steady and clear, but she let the fear twist inside her stomach. She knew exactly who did this. It was the Dealers. It had to be. Only they would ruin something in such a gory way. The Hatter was shouting, now, for De'Laire, just who she herself had suspected - and Jabberwocky was putting out the fire. "We should leave." She muttered, hiding the dagger she had in the curve of her forearm and the folds of her dress. "Or do something." She looked up and bit her lip slightly.

De'laire sat enclosed by trees. His body now exhausted from the work of magic he had just done, he sat to rest and regain some energy before the next step in the plan. Hearing now the fruits of his labour coming to life in the forms of shrieks and shattering tea cups he managed to let go of a little grin, before quickly suppressing it. Resting in his hand was the knife that had carved the young girls face, the traces of blood ran down the blade like veins in the skin. Trickling slowly until they hit the tip, then dropped down all the way to the forest floor, never to be seen again as they soaked into the moist earth.

His patience was beginning to wear thin when Phaedra finally appeared into the small opening. The youngest of the dealers she often seemed the most innocent. Not that De'laire thought it was a bad thing. A wonderful trait to have when trying to be devious. An innocent person is more likely to be accepted as trusting and used. An awful mistake for anyone to make with Phaedra. "That was a pretty little show you put on back there, Very interesting." "I am glad you liked it" he replied, "Now wes must move onto the next part of the plan."

In the distance De'Laire heard someone bemoaning his name. Already playing the blame game? he thought to himself. "Thats fine, but what until you see whats next". In the bushes nearby he heard the voice of the ever arrogant Lucien. And he was causing a commotion. "Bloody fool" he muttered, slowly pushing his body up with his hands. De'Laire did not dislike Lucien. He was a powerful dealer, but sometimes his ego got the better of him. Like now.

When he finally arrived in the clearing De'Laire was furious. He waltzed up to Lucien and pushed his face right up to him. "For fuck sakes Lucien what are you doing out there, you're going to get us all caught. Lighting things on fire and messing with a bloody Jabberwocky, using your magic publicly? You better be damn sure it didn't follow us back here and realise what the hell is going on or I swear you will regret it." Finally calming himself De'Laire stood back and took a deep breath. He was tired enough as it is, getting angry would not be helpful in the situation. Raising his arm to his forehead he wiped the sweat from his skin.

"Where the hell is Cordelia anyway?" he blathered. "Probably off wandering around as usual. Whatever, we don't have time for this, find her later". De'laire walked towards the back of the clearing and pulled away the trees revealing another young girl in a similar white dress. She stood silently, the only visible motion was the slow and steady movement of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled the oxygen in the air that sustained her. "We tried to take Wonderland by force before, it failed. It costs us dearly and here we are years later trying again. Except this time we will do things differently. We cut the head off of the snake last time. This time I want the heart. But to get the heart we have to mess with the mind. Wonderland needs a little bit of paranoia before we can introduce the madness. People already believe I .... we are back. Now we have to make them doubt. Question themselves and stutter in their stride. Make them lose whatever confidence they have. It will take time but we will break Wonderland and force them all to kneel and beg for mercy. We will torment them until they can take no more and then deliver the crushing blow. Then, then we shall take Wonderland, when all of it's leaders are destroying themselves from inside out we shall take Wonderland and rule it for ourselves!" De'laire stopped to take a breather, his enthusiasm only clashing with his fatigue. Once he regained his composure he stood up again and grabbed the young girl by the arm.

"I have wiped this girls memory clean. She doesn't know who she is, where she is or what she is doing. It cost a lot of my energy, an awful lot of energy. Phaedra." He turned to her and pushed the girl into her arms. "Use your manipulative ways and craft a new story for this girl. Give her this knife and make her believe that her goal in life is to kill the Prince of Spades and then set her free to find him. Tell her her name is T.D. I want that snooty bitch of hearts but it would be too obvious. The Prince of Spades has no connection to me. They will think that this girl is just a crazed murderer out to kill a royal. The blame will be shifted but the name De'Laire Slayer will rest in the back of minds. The seed will be planted." Wiping the girls memory had taken more effort than intended. Such magic was among the darkest of all the arts. He walked past the two dealers using their shoulders for support. "Don't mess it up, make it work, make her believable. Lucien I need you to observe everything that happens with the rest of the party. Make some friends, put your looks to work. And make sure Cordelia doesn't do anything silly. I'll be back at the lair, I need my energy back before we do anything more."

Slowly De'laire made his way out of the clearing. "Good Luck, all of this will be ours soon. Patience."

Thackery watched on as Hatter ran across to the girl, cutting her down from the tree. And this, Thackery thought, was the reason that Hatter was the leader of their ragtag group, not Thackery or any other member. Hatter was the loudest and most outspoken of them all.

"Listen! Everyone!" Hatter began, "I believe that De'Laire is behind this! I fear that he was the one that gathered all of us here today, to make some sort of statement! But De'Laire is a coward! He has refused to show his face here and has instead mutilated a poor girl!" Hatter looked toward the girl who was now leaned upon the tree. "If you think you're so high and mighty, De'Laire, why not show us your face! Come out and show your 'guests' your face, coward!"

Thackery's eyes widened. De'Laire? He was a story, wasn't he? His ears flattened against the inside of his hat. De'Laire couldn't be real. Thackery took a steadying breath, looking down at the ground. Losing it now wouldn't do, not when there was so many people around, especially De'Laire, assuming he was real. Thackery's eyes shot back up when he smelt an odd smell on the air, like a metallic burning. He saw Hatter on his knees and ran over to his friend, knocking Wendy out of the way, dropping to his knees beside Hatter, "Hatter?" He asked, his voice full of concern. Realising that his friend was just stunned, Thackery looked around for someone who might be responsible for Hatter's current state. He spotted a dark haired man dressed in black who looked very pleased with himself and was currently setting fire to the garden, much to the annoyance of the Jabberwocky present. Thackery would have loved to rip the man's head from his shoulders, but he had more pressing matters to attend to, "Wendy," He called, getting the White Rabbit's attention, "Help me get Hatter safe," He instructed her, hooking Hatter's arm over his shoulder.

As he lifted Hatter from his knees, Thackery looked down at the dead girl. The poor girl deserved better than this, a proper burial with her family in attendance. But Thackery had more pressing matters to deal with and he had no means of finding out who the girl was. Another girl, well woman really, dressed in black, was watching the girl with considerable interest. Thackery watched the woman for a moment, before silently leaving the girl to her care. He made sure Wendy had a hold of Hatter and began walking his friend away from the party.

---

Phaedra could barely suppress a smile when De'Laire gave Lucien an earful about setting fire to the garden. While she didn't care much for the garden herself, it was always nice to see Lucien being put in his place. Phaedra's attention was then caught by a girl, similarly dressed to the one De'Laire had just killed, but her face was a different kind of blank. De'Laire pushed the girl towards her, allowing Phaedra a closer look at her face. She was pretty in a very conventional way. The girl was someone you probably wouldn't spot in a crowd.

"Use your manipulative ways and craft a new story for this girl. Give her this knife and make her believe that her goal in life is to kill the Prince of Spades and then set her free to find him. Tell her her name is T.D. I want that snooty bitch of hearts but it would be too obvious. The Prince of Spades has no connection to me. They will think that this girl is just a crazed murderer out to kill a royal. The blame will be shifted but the name De'Laire Slayer will rest in the back of minds. The seed will be planted. Don't mess it up, make it work, make her believable."

Phaedra wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulder, taking the knife from De'Laire, sliding it up her sleeve. Phaedra lifted the girl's chin slightly so she could see into her eyes. Phaedra smiled sweetly, "You must be tired after your long journey," the girl looked at her blankly, "There is nothing for you to fear from me, I have no intention of hurting you, T.D was it?" Again the girl looked blankly, "Yes, T.D," Phaedra confirmed for the girl, "Come my dear, you must be thirsty," She said, leading the girl, T.D, into the garden, ignoring the jaberwocky trying to douse Lucien's flames. Phaedra felt T.D resist her, digging her heels into the grass. Phaedra stopped and looked at the girl, "Something wrong my dear?"

T.D looked around the garden, lingering on the flames for a moment longer, before looking back to Phaedra, "What is your name?" T.D asked quietly.

Phaedra nodded. Her memories had been erased but she could still remember speech. Well that was good to know, "Phaedra."

"Well, Miss Phaedra," T.D said ever so politely, "I am very tired and would like to go home."

"Of course my dear, whatever you wish. If you wish to go home then we will go home."

T.D smiled at Phaedra brightly, "Thank you Miss Phaedra," She said as Phaedra escorted to her to the carriage. She looked around in amazement as the carriage began moving by itself, "How is this moving?"

Phaedra leaned forward, "Magic. All my friends can do magic. I'll explain everything to you when you've rested, alright?" T.D nodded her agreement at Phaedra's plan, "There's a good girl."

---

---

Hares were always the most skittish of creatures, created with anxiety tied into their limbs, and as destiny would have it the girl is gone, scurrying into the crowd to no longer hold his attention, not now. Focus is taken by the woman of carnivorous nature, underneath the woven material shielding the entirety of her feral anatomy were muscles made to cripple bones. The Princess of Spades suited the portrait whispers had painted her to be; a warrior with earth caked onto her skin and gravel in her throat. There's the delicate twist of a smile and his fingers become moors, uncurling so the glass jar obeys the law of what is forsaken, slips from the lax grasp and plunges to the ground below. The butterfly cage of transparency rolls past his feet and those mosaic wings beat as a drum against the boundaries of the container, and Prudence does not bat an eyelash to the gift, mouth a marionette that curls and lifts as the screams of humans sing in a symphony around them.

"Lady Atcha, it's a pleasure to meet you." His words are caramelized honey drops compared to the shrikes of adrenaline horror, the human's cries breaking ravines into the atmospheres, dismantling harmony in an impromptu of discord. A string tugs inside the brain, and it's the tolerated pain of curiosity, though seeing can wait when in the presence of royal blood not terribly unlike his own, the woman cradling power that simply cannot be disregarded. Her hand is taken, the cloth of his gloves slick against her flesh and the appendages slide in gentle strides, a river the bends to the shape of her mountain, and the cold spreads as he know it does, a chill of winter murmuring against her warm body. "Oh, it'd be an honor if my name is anything more than another story in your memory." Musing in the midst of pandemonium a woman stumbles, heeled shoe sinking into the dirt before she falls beside them, clutching her hand as he bows in less than a right angle, polite without groveling, respect without tarnishing his name.

"I am Prudentius Diamond, crowned Prince and active monarch of The North. You may call me Prudence, if you so wish. I've been told it is easier on the tongue." They separate, the winter returns to him and settles in the crannies of his joints, and the limb rests by his side as the parasol spins, perhaps in tribute to the fallen woman as she scrambles and dashes for the exit. Ah, what may have happened? Surely there was bloodshed, the excitement in the air of violence and mortality, what fools fret about, caterwauling into his draconian skull. "I thought it was time for us to meet, and it does sound that my presumption was right - my, can you hear them panic? You'd think they've been told to lose their heads." It's a carefree jest but his hands wish nothing more than to sew golden thread between their lips, close them for eternity so he need not hear their idiotic screams, each one more vapid than the last and the cacophony crawls underneath his skin - he wants to liberate them of their sound. His visage however remains composed, if not pulled into quirks of concern characterized by amusement, and he turns his head away from Atcha to finally be a witness to the drainage of life, pomegranate juice soaking into the roots of grassling plants.

There are many curious sights to see, and time is always hasty in madness, yet he stores away their faces in his museum of recollection; the morbid woman that will haunt him as she disappears, the Hatter shouting of a man turned fable, the corpse bride torn from her pedestal. "De'Laire?" The name had been heard before, in history books and retellings, warnings and teaching to mold his strategies into perfections and sharpen the scenery of the world, but he hadn't expected the name to be attached to an accusation now, not at a party, not even if dead girls and boys rained from the sky. "...Could this lunatic be right? Anyone possessed by fear and ignorance will blame their monsters and make scapegoats, although...Why, isn't this an interesting development?" The contemplations are drawn away, do not require to be spoken and he scrutinizes flames that caress the flora and fauna, the dragon winged girl and bastardized man beside the creek of red and watches the curious, suspicious fall of the hatter.

Prudence's heart won't beat again, will not pulsate and he is himself a structure of ice, bereft of life and therefore he stands without fright corrupting his sanity. An observer is who he will be for the time being, will transfigure information into weapons and defenses, and the parasol again rotates, knows that if it comes to it he can disembowel any enemies by directing the concealed blade within. "Lady Atcha, I have spotted your Jabberwocky kneeling across the late celebration. You should go tend to her, it seems as if she has been wounded. I would also suggest there is psychological trauma, but Jabberwockies don't lead typical lives...neither do they do typical things." The suggestion merges with his examination, raindrops descending from the heavens and onto the planes of infinite transience, and the parasol is lowered, closing inwards and tied by a string purified of all color. That body, he must get to it somehow, utilize this earache of a tumult and steal the cadaver.

"I must find my friend as well, but we will speak again soon, I promise you that." He speaks with a guarantee, a smile, monochrome light drifting into the crypts of his pupils as not a single lie passes his meticulous lips, for he does need to find Evangeline after all, vaguely wonders if she happened to stab anyone during the course of this party. Albeit, as important and precious as she is, she is not a priority, not when she could dismember anyone daft enough to attempt strangling her breath away. It's the body, that is what he needs before there is notice or righteous acts of appropriating her for burial. With a nod to signify end of conversation his regard for Atcha depletes, another opportunity will come, and he walks forward, pushing and sliding through the invigorated crowd as they stagger on their feeble legs, bruising his shoulders in their brutish escape. No, he will not permit her to rot in the ground - she will rise from death, and she too will walk.

Thackery nodded at Wendy's suggestion. If Hatter was right, neither of their homes were safe. If De'Laire was behind this party and the stunt, then that meant he knew where himself and Hatter lived. The only connection anyone could see between Thackery and Wendy was that they were both para-humans. Wendy's house was safe. Thackery heard Hatter mumbling to himself, tears beginning to role down his friend's face. Thackery shifted more of Hatter's weight onto his shoulder, awkwardly wiping away the tears, "Don't worry," he comforted Hatter, "We know it was De'Laire. But right now, we need to get to a safe place, you're in no fit state to be doing anything."

Thackery hailed down one of the carriages, climbing in and lifting Hatter in after him, offering a hand to help Wendy up. Events may have taken a turn for the worse but that was no reason not to be a gentleman. He let Wendy guide the driver, his attention focused on Hatter, making sure he didn't deteriorate. Would all Hatter's forms be affected the attack? Thackery wondered to himself. When the carriage arrived at Wendy's home, Thackery guided Hatter inside, sitting him down before heading into the kitchen, "Keep an eye on him Wendy," Thackery called through, hanging his hat on one of the kitchen cupboards. He filled the kettle and began boiling the water, "Tea, tea,tea, tea,tea," Thackery repeated the word like a mantra as he searched through the contents of Wendy's kitchen, "Tea!" He yelled when he found the precious product.

When he reappeared from the kitchen he was carrying a tray with three cups of tea balanced on the top, "Not my best work," he said, handing the cup with several spoons of sugar in to Hatter, "But it's better than most," He watched Hatter intently, "So, what now?" He asked when he was sure Hatter could hold a conversation.

---

T.D was curled up on one of the sofa's, lost in a deep sleep. Her eyes flickered every now and then, but beyond that, the girl had barely moved. Phaedra removed the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down around her shoulders. Who had realised that having your memory wiped would be so tiring? The apocalypse could break out and T.D would be none the wiser. T.D's sleepiness did offer Phaedra a chance to come up with a story, a way to quietly influence T.D into hating the Prince of Spades. Death was always a good place to start, given the Prince's power over death. A story quickly began to form in her head that would turn T.D against the Prince. The greatest difficulty would be keeping it believable, without spilling into melodrama, but keeping it enough to persuade the girl.

T.D began to stir, her gaze all out of focus as she sat herself up. Her hair was slightly matted on one side. "Sleep well my dear?" Phaedra asked, feigning interest. T.D nodded, looking around the room, much like she had done at the party. Phaedra briefly wondered how Lucien and Cordelia were getting on at the party.

"Who were those people?" T.D asked.

"Which people dear?"

"At the party," T.D explained. Well, this was going better than she had expected.

"Well some of them, like the ones that were with me when I found you, they are my friends. And yours," She nodded to T.D, taking a seat next to the girl, "Then there are the citizens of Wonderland, they were most of the guests. The royals were there too, but we try to have as little to do with them as possible."

Picking up on the distaste in Phaedra's voice, T.D asked, "Why not?"

Feigning surprise, Phaedra looked at T.D with wide eyes, "Oh," She shook her head looking deeply saddened, "They've done some terrible things. They pretend they're better than all of us, but they are the worst of us when it all comes down to it," Phaedra said with a slight hitch in her voice, looking down at the folds of her skirt, "They treat us like toys to break and throw away. The Prince of Spades is worst of all, he kills for fun and then brings people back from the dead to laugh at their misfortune."

"He can do that?" T.D asked, shocked and curious all at once.

Phaedra nodded, her eyes welling up, "He can, and does. There are so many rumours about that man," Phaedra wiped away her crocodile tears, "Look at me," She said with half a smile, holding her hands up in disbelief, "Filling your head with these stories when you've only just woken up. Would you like something to eat? Drink?" She asked, beginning to fuss over T.D, "Tea perhaps?" The girl was probably still too young to properly appreciate wine. No use wasting the good stuff on people who didn't appreciate it.

"That would be nice."

Phaedra smiled, "You just wait here, I'll be back in a moment." Leaving the girl, Phaedra thanked her lucky stars that things were going so well. Already, she could see the cogs in T.D's head beginning to turn, mulling over the Prince of Spades. That was the trick. Little tidbits of information here and there, just enough to plant doubt before the final blow came. And what a blow it was going to be.

Vale, watched as the scene unfolded before him. Something about this whole thing, made his insides tickle with laughter. The panic of the people, a dead body, fire, confusion, just all of it was the cherry on top of a perfect party.

"Haha haha haha haha!!!!!" He held his stomach as he laughed so loud that most of the people quiet down to stare at him. 'Haha! Forgive me for laughing so loudly! Talk about a dead part before, it sure did light up fast! Hahaha!" He breathed in and sighed with a smile on his face.

People looked at him as if he was mad or crazy. Sure maybe he was, but he wouldn't be here if he wasn't. "Do forgive me, once again. Thy name is Vitriol, Valentine Vitriol." He bowed ever so gracefully.

You could hear already that people have heard of him as the Mysterious Shop Keeper. Many have thought him to be fake. But that was surely untrue.

Apart from that he went on with what he had to say. "Wonderland sure has gone down over the years, or so I see. It seems that the new rulers to this place, have nothing to rule over, if the madness has gotten this far out of hand. It's a shame really. I am disappointed." He placed both hands onto his fancy walking stick with his poster perfect and his head facing down as if he was ashamed. "I guarantee that alot of you will most likely die, if not tonight, along down the road. It's best to take care of the problem while it is in hand. And from the looks of it, there is more than just 'De'Laire' behind it all. But before that, maybe none of you should point fingers at who it could be, for all we know. The culprits is the Royals. Or it could just be one big show!" He threw his hand up and started to laugh. "But in all ends seriously, it seems that someone wants the Royal's attention and we all know that everyone hates every last one of you. So it could have been anyone hear." He spoke nothing but the truth, just as how he saw it. "Well, most of everyone. Haha."

Normally he was a very kept cool type of guy, but this was over the top even for him. But he couldn't help it, he was just so entertained that it broke him, turning his laughter into madness. It had made his compused side vanish and there was a slight twist about his eyes. That only those who know him, knows what it means. He was excited to the point that he wanted to be involved of whatever is going on. Even if the was the accused, he wanted to be in. This had interested him and nothing could get him out of it.

"There is but one thing that I know, if you want to know who is behind all of this. We must find the Cheshire Cat. He sees everything. He is the eyes and ears of wonderland. Find him and we get our answers."